


The Coffee Shop

by Bolt_DMC



Category: Bolt (2008)
Genre: Coffee Shops, F/M, Humor, Matchmaking, Music, Original Character(s), Peril, Post-Canon, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-09 21:02:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20516381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bolt_DMC/pseuds/Bolt_DMC
Summary: Bolt is concerned that the ultra-busy Penny is so wrapped up in her new veterinary career that she has no time to find a husband. He plays Cupid, discovering somebody he thinks is a great possibility at the local coffee shop. But how will he get the two of them to meet? Will Bolt risk putting himself in harm's way to accomplish this, and will Bolt’s efforts ultimately pay off? Primary cultural references include the pop album "Shake Some Action" by the Flamin’ Groovies, the TV show "The Big Bang Theory," and the musical "Fiddler on the Roof."





	The Coffee Shop

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: April-October 2019.
> 
> For Mwalimu (no connection implied).

1.

It was mid-morning, and for Bolt and Mittens that meant one thing -- time to dig deep into some of the best highbrow and popular culture available during the next few hours as a team. They didn't limit such explorations to this specific time window, but it was the one structured recurring period when they did so together.

"You select the genre," urged the pooch, "And then I’ll narrow things down further, okay babe?"

For the cat, that was an easy pick. Music was normally her go-to choice when given the option.

The dog had anticipated that likelihood, saying, "Okay, I’ll take it from here." He ruminated on the parameters as if choosing the most appropriate fine French wine to accompany a bowl of crunchy kibble. "Let's make it pop music, and let's definitely go retro this time. Not too fluffy, not too heavy. Sturdy, though. Got something that checks off all the boxes?"

Mittens smiled. "Wags, my dear, I know just the thing." She padded over to Penny’s CD tower stack and selected "Shake Some Action" by the Flamin’ Groovies.

The Groovies had spent their career a decade or so resolutely behind the times. Their first-rate initial albums, dating from 1968 to 1971, were firmly rooted in ‘50s pop music and hopelessly unfashionable in post-Summer-of-Love San Francisco. The band fell apart and then regrouped in the United Kingdom, releasing their finest disc, "Shake Some Action," in 1976 with a somewhat updated ethos -- venturing only as far as mid-‘60s British Invasion pop -- and still no success. Eventually, punk and indie-rock aficionados and adventurous pop music critics would discover the band’s achievement. Perhaps not surprisingly, Bolt enjoyed it thoroughly.

After mutually agreeing to read poetry by Gerard Manley Hopkins and short stories by O. Henry, Mittens insisted on making the last choice -- on-demand episodes of the TV show "The Big Bang Theory." It was a bit of a surprise, too. Since Rhino’s death in 2011 at the ripe old hamster age of four, the two remaining pets had gravitated away from the "magic box" to concentrate on books, music, and visual art. The first three seasons of this excellent show are its best, and they particularly enjoyed "The Peanut Reaction." Here, Penny, Sheldon, and the gang throw a surprise birthday party for Leonard. Their friend Howard bizarrely tries to distract Leonard while things are being set up by first faking, then deliberately inducing his peanut allergy, necessitating a trip to the hospital emergency ward.

When the episodes ended, Mittens said with a laugh, "That was hilarious! Hadn't seen those before. Though I gotta say, as good as that peanut episode was, it does stretch credibility juuuust a tiny bit. Who in their right mind would even consider putting themselves that much in harm's way to create a diversion like Howard did? It would take a special kind of idiot to go to those lengths, don’tcha think?"

Bolt however seemed oddly distracted and thoughtful rather than bowled over with mirth. This wasn't the reaction Mittens had expected somehow, and in fact the pooch had generally seemed more preoccupied than usual this morning. "Somethin’ eatin’ you there? Penny for your thoughts, kiddo," she continued with a puzzled expression.

"Penny, indeed," Bolt earnestly responded. "I hate to ‘kwetch’ like this, but I'm really starting to get concerned about her. She’s 24 now, and she hasn't found a husband yet. At this rate, I’m never gonna have grandchildren. Y’know what I'm sayin’?"

The cat grinned, shook her head, and put a paw on the pooch’s shoulder. "Wags, Wags, Wags… it would take me half an hour to explain everything that's wrong with what you just said. Tell you what, I'll keep it short -- just the low-lights, okay?"

She removed her paw from Bolt’s shoulder and spread her left front foot with pad facing inward, the better for her to count off the points. "First," she explained while tapping her initial digit, "You’re not Penny’s dad, even though you're every bit as protective as he’d probably have been. You’re a dog and she’s a human. You’re eight years younger than she is."

The cat paused at the third digit. "Sorry, sweetie, but it's wrong at both the age and species level, and that means grandkids aren’t technically a possibility for you even if she has children." Mittens tapped her fourth digit. "Second of all, it’s ‘kvetch,’ not ‘kwetch’. Remember me, the one from New York? Idioms like this are right in my wheelhouse. Besides, I know from kvetching -- dog only knows, I do it enough."

She drew a deep breath and emphatically tapped the spot where her missing dewclaw would have been. "Finally, there's this little factoid. It's true we live out here in the boonies, but we don't live in Bugtussle, Granny Clampett. And in our little corner of rural paradise, you're not an old maid if you aren’t hitched by age 16. Lots of humans get married in their late 20s and 30s and still start a family. Don't worry about Penny -- she just hasn't found the right guy yet. You know how it is when you’re preoccupied with school or work. Anyway, she’s been dating off and on. She’ll find somebody eventually."

Bolt chuckled. "Well -- looks like the Mittens Academy for Dumb Dogs is back in session. Time for this old shepherd to learn some new tricks, I guess." Years of banter with Mittens had by this time infused the pooch with some semblance of a sense of humor, if not a perfectly honed one.

"Believe me, Bolty," teased the cat. "As long as you’re our number one pupil, the Academy’s never gonna go out of business."

"Still," the dog said thoughtfully, "I just have this funny feeling in my stomach that Penny’s missing out on a really good opportunity right now. Just a hunch maybe, but… "

"Then again, it might be indigestion from those three-day-old leftovers you scrounged out of the trash this morning," groaned Mittens. "Boy, I dunno how you do it. You seem to be able to eat all kinds of stuff that’d just make me sick."

"Yeah, maybe you’re right," Bolt replied. "But," he thought, "I’m gonna keep my ears open anyway. We’ll just see if my instincts are off or not, Miss Smarty Britches."

2.

The latest buzz in this rural area that Penny and her pets called home was the -- some might say inevitable -- arrival of Queequeg’s, the ubiquitous coffee franchise. Penny’s mom was one of its first customers in line on opening day, having grown to love their sturdy brew while living in Los Angeles. She much preferred them to their chief rivals, Dippy Donuts ("Their motto should be ‘Our coffee’s stronger than a brown crayon dipped in hot water -- but not much stronger’," she liked to joke) and Joe Orton’s (a brew she thought best suited to the Jolt Cola crowd, or as she would quip, "Hammer down a cup of Joe’s").

This became a regular early morning stop for Penny’s mom, and Bolt got into the habit of accompanying her. The pooch had also decided this was fertile ground for scoping out potential mates for Penny. There was a major downside to this newly-begun tradition, however. Dogs are opportunistic eaters, a by-product of their wolf ancestor days when going to bed hungry was a common occurrence -- and much to Bolt’s pleasure, patrons at the coffee shop routinely found it amusing to toss the charming little shepherd a yummy treat, such as the end of a donut or pastry, a bacon strip, or the last bite of scrambled egg from a breakfast sandwich. This increased exponentially on days when he felt like putting on his most expressive begging face or doing a cute roll over for attention. Paired with his occasional clandestine indulgence in table scraps from the home garbage can, the result was a transformation of Bolt’s normal sleek look into a barrel-chested chubbiness.

He always made it back to the farmhouse from Queequeg’s in plenty of time for his cultural rendezvous with Mittens, though she was less than pleased by his newly acquired spare tire. She wryly coped with this by telling "boyfriend vs. husband" jokes such as:

Q: What's the difference between a boyfriend and a husband?

A: Thirty pounds.

To which, she would add comments such as, "That’s 12 in dog pounds." Still, the cat guessed it was just a strange phase Bolt was going through and would outgrow sooner or later. "I did figure on ‘For Better or For Worse’ when we declared our love for each other. If this is the worst that happens, I guess I'm lucky," she sighed.

Penny didn't have time for coffee runs these days. She had buried herself in college and later in veterinary school, forgoing almost all semblance of a social life for her studies. The girl’s sacrifice ultimately paid off, as she graduated magna cum laude; she'd missed achieving summa cum laude by a single grade point, as fatigue had gotten the better of her during final exams and she had misstated a couple of her answers. Penny had continued to live at home while attending college in the big city, working part-time as an assistant to their family vet in order to obtain mentorship and hands-on experience. The hours and stress often got to her, and at her graduation ceremony she had credited Bolt, Mittens, and her mom for providing the moral support to carry on. After graduation, she had continued working at Dr. Burkitt’s office, first as an assistant veterinarian and shortly after as a partner, until he retired six months back and offered her his practice at a very reasonable price.

"I want you to have this, Penny," he’d said. "You'll do right by the animals."

Her mom had been happy to co-sign a loan for her, and before she even had a chance to fully wrap her head around it, she had her own practice and was working to establish herself as (in her words), "Dr. Penny, Frontier Animal Medicine Woman." They gutted, insulated, and refurbished the unused barn on the farmhouse property, repurposing it into a modern veterinary clinic.

Penny had also grown from a lanky pre-teen into an attractive young woman. She wasn't beautiful in the classic sense, bearing features that one might more readily consider cute and elfin. Her brown eyes sparkled with intelligence leavened with a touch of impishness. She had tried wearing her auburn hair a number of different ways during college, but invariably got fed up with the hassle of longer hairstyles and wound up cutting it short again, which only enhanced her pixie-like appearance. Penny’s figure had also filled out, and while it was far from voluptuous, neither was it model-thin. She had the fit look of a woman who could handle herself wrestling with large, often unwilling patients who did not understand that they needed treatment. Her shape was the type that worked well with skinny black jeans and a plain dark t-shirt worn under an open, slightly oversized men’s shirt, as well as sneakers or sandals depending on the weather. It was a look she dubbed "neo-slacker," and was her preferred attire once she doffed her veterinarian's lab coat.

The change hadn’t gone unnoticed by the boys around her, and she was not lacking for potential suitors. Unfortunately, Penny learned that setting up one's own business was all-consuming to the point that she often joked about pining for the relative ease and free time she'd had in college. She missed the obvious admiration and advances of the men around her with Bolt-like obliviousness. As often as not, a conversation with Penny would go something like this:

Potential suitor: "Hey, Penny! Were you interested in seeing a movie later this week?"

Penny: "Uh, I'm not sure. Do you know where I can get my hands on 300 milliliters of bethanechol before Thursday? There was a run on it, and my supplier is out until next month."

It went without saying that her dating life could neatly be summed up by the word "infrequent."

3.

Bolt continued coming daily to Queequeg’s without seeing any possible suitors for his master. That is, until the day he spied Joe sitting in a chair over at the coffee shop's outdoor seating area.

He was in his late 20s or thereabouts, a big, rawboned, and handsome fellow with a thick neck and medium length brown hair. Despite his size, he was a gentle and good-hearted soul who loved animals. Having grown up on a nearby farm, Joe had ultimately decided to forgo such work and get an Associate’s Degree in accounting at the local community college. Though he came across as a deliberate slow-thinker in the manner of Jimmy Stewart and John Wayne, he was intelligent and perceptive. He enjoyed coming to Queequeg’s for a coffee and donut before heading off to class.

"Well, hello there, fella," said Joe when Bolt ambled up to him for the first time. "You look just like that white dog on the old TV show back about ten years ago or so. Maybe a bit gray around the muzzle, but still -- you’re a dead ringer for him. Used to have a little guy kinda like you when I was growin’ up." He saw the shepherd’s eyes flick almost involuntarily to his hand before returning to his face. "Say, I bet you’d like a piece of my donut, wouldn't you?"

The pooch wagged his tail happily as Joe tossed him the last bite of cruller and rubbed his head warmly. The man’s hands were big but caring, and Bolt liked him immediately. "Hmmmm -- I do believe we've got a winner," thought the dog. "Now let's get to know him better, see if he’s as nice as I think he is."

Bolt and Joe spent a portion of each early morning after that together on the coffee shop's veranda. Joe enjoyed the shepherd’s company greatly, scratching the pooch behind the ears and talking to him about whatever interesting thing happened to pop into his head at the moment. Bolt had learned over the years that people tended to speak more frankly around a dog since they knew their words would not be repeated. The more Joe opened up to him, the more Bolt liked him.

"Definitely think this guy might be right for Penny," said the little shepherd to himself after a month’s getting-acquainted time. "Now all I've gotta do is find a way to have them meet each other. So how am I gonna manage that?"

4.

As dogs go, Bolt was extremely smart. His judgment, particularly with regard to applying solutions to problems, however, ran the gamut from ingeniously appropriate to tinfoil-hat bizarre. Regardless, the pooch was normally convinced that whatever solution he came up with would be both ideal and infallible.

Even Bolt questioned the wisdom of his planned scheme to get Penny and Joe to meet each other, though. He had spent a couple weeks trying to concoct something, anything, to this end -- but the best he could manage was to make himself sick enough that Joe would have to rush him to Penny’s office.

"Well," he said to himself thoughtfully. "At least I'm not going to go get myself hit by a car or gobble down a truckload of chocolate. It needs to be something I'll recover from easily, not die trying. This probably won't be as risky. Still… "

The day Bolt decided to launch what he called "Operation Yenta" began like any other day since he had started going to Queequeg’s. The little shepherd visited with Joe to enjoy an ear scritch and captivating monologue, wandered the coffee shop trying to coax patrons out of their table scraps, and chased interesting smells on the surrounding lawn. Things got unusual in a hurry after that, as the pooch first went from table to table lapping up all the leftover coffee in abandoned cups and then rooted in the trash to finish off any remaining brew in the discards. Bolt found quite a bit of the noxious fluid to gulp down, and given how much he disliked the taste of the stuff, he began to doubt the wisdom of his plan all the more. In fact, he had tremendous difficulty keeping the nasty libation in his stomach -- though the pooch managed to do so, if just barely.

He learned why dogs shouldn't partake of lattes and cappuccinos soon enough. Bolt began to tremble and shake from the caffeine, eyes wide and staring as if he had once again reverted to believing he possessed laser heat vision. He began to babble quickly as well. "Oh, oh, getting the shakes, getting the shakes, oh, oh, bad idea, bad idea, oh, oh, shouldn’ta done this, shouldn’ta done this, oh, oh, not fun, not fun, oh, oh, stop it, stop it, oh, oh… " he ranted, though to humans it only sounded like an assortment of woofs, yips, growls, and other doggy vocalizations. Bolt toddled unsteadily over to Joe and collapsed theatrically at the man’s feet, quivering like a bowl of furry gelatin.

"Hey, buddy, what's the matter? You don’t look too good," said Joe with panic in his voice. "C’mere little guy. There's a new lady veterinarian just set up shop down the road a ways. She’ll know what to do." He picked up the jittery pooch, put him in the passenger seat of his car, and sped off.

Penny’s waiting room was already full when Joe burst in carrying the shepherd in his arms. "Hey, lady!" he exclaimed urgently. "Think you better take a look at this poor fella right away."

"Oh, my word!" she gasped upon exiting the examination room. "Bring him right in! This is an emergency! Sorry, everybody -- I'll get to you as soon as I can."

Joe put the shaking, bug-eyed, whining dog on the examination table. "What happened?" asked Penny nervously.

"Beats me," the man answered. "He came wobbling over and dropped in a heap right in front of me. Poor little guy threw up in my car on the way over here. Twice, actually. I don't know what got into him, but it's definitely trying to get back out again."

Penny checked the shepherd’s pulse, listened to his lungs, and inspected his eyes and ears. When she opened his mouth and smelled his breath, though, she knew immediately what had happened. "You didn't give him coffee, did you?" she chided Joe with a reproachful glare.

The man shook his head. "No, no. Coffee’s bad for dogs. I know better than that."

The look on Penny’s face softened immediately. "Oh -- oh -- I’m… I’m sorry," she responded contritely. "I’m just a little on edge because -- well, because he’s my dog."

"Brought him to the right place, at least," replied Joe with a nod and a sheepish grin.

Penny smiled warmly at him. "Thanks, I really appreciate it." She turned to Bolt and shook her head. "What am I gonna do with you, you little scamp? Oh well, first things first. Gotta make you throw up again, see if there’s any remaining coffee we can clear from your stomach."

Once the vomiting session was complete, Penny induced the dog to swallow a couple of charcoal capsules, then gave him shots in the rump filled with medications designed to lower the shepherd’s blood pressure and minimize the likelihood of seizure. "His breathing’s fine, and it looks like he’s starting to calm down. I don't think he drank enough to kill himself. He’ll be uncomfortable for a while, but that should be the worst of it. I'll just put him on a bed in the back room with an intravenous drip and let him recuperate."

"Say," offered Joe. "Looks like you've got a waiting room full of patients. I’d be happy to sit with him -- y’know just keep an eye on him, make sure nothin’ goes wrong."

"You sure you want to do that?" she replied.

"Wouldn't mind at all. He’s become my little coffee shop buddy, actually. Happy to oblige."

Penny smiled. "Sure, that’d be fine. Thanks for helping out. He is kinda irresistible, as I can tell you from years of experience." She paused before bustling out to deal with the other waiting patients. "Sorry about your car."

Joe shrugged. "I had high school buddies do worse in it," he said with a wry grin. True to his word, he sat with Bolt the rest of the day, reading a magazine and periodically stroking the dog while talking softly to him.

5.

Penny reentered the back room once she had finished seeing her last patient.

"He seems much better now. You did a great job with him," Joe said. "Looks like you really know your stuff. I’m impressed."

"Thanks," she sighed wearily. It had been a demanding day. "Oh, in all the confusion, I didn’t properly introduce myself. I’m Penny."

"Happy to meet you," came the reply. "Joe’s my name. Sorry we couldn’t have met under better circumstances."

Penny went over to examine the now quiet pooch. "He'll be fine," she said. "Glad that's over with. Another day of rest and keeping his water dish plenty full should be all he needs." She grinned at Joe and said, "Thanks for keeping an eye on him -- that was really nice of you. Day off from work?"

The man shook his head. "Nope, I'm in school right now, taking classes towards an Associate’s Degree in accounting. Should be done by December. Been living off savings over the last year. Donut and coffee at Queequeg’s is my only splurge nowadays."

"You’re really good with animals, looks like," Penny answered -- much to Bolt’s delight -- with what seemed to be slightly more than professional interest. The admiration in her tone made the pooch feel marginally less miserable.

"Grew up on a farm a few miles from here. Been around them my whole life," Joe responded earnestly. "Kinda second nature to me, I guess."

Penny nodded with a smile. "Y’know, I was thinking. I just started my practice up, and I've been a lot busier than I expected. Don't get me wrong, that's a good thing. Now I'm not sure if this works for you, but I could use another person around here part time. A clinic assistant who could also help with figuring out the finances? Boy, that’d be great. I can't really pay that much, at least right now, but probably could in a few months. Would you consider working for me? If nothing else, you'll be able to indulge in a fancy latte with sprinkles now and then… "

Joe reflected a minute. "Sure. Bet it’d be fun. I can do part-time until December, and it would be good practice for my studies. When do you want me to start?"

6.

A few days after Bolt had recovered from his coffee shop escapade, Penny pulled the pooch aside, taking his head firmly in both hands and looking him squarely in the eyes.

"Okay, Bolty -- time we had ourselves a little talk. First things first. What on earth possessed you to drink all that coffee? I thought you knew better than that by now, but maybe I was wrong. Guess I’m gonna have to watch you more carefully. So what do you have to say for yourself, you naughty thing?"

"Um… you're welcome?" said Bolt, though it only sounded like whimpering to Penny. "No ‘thank you’ for introducing you to Joe?"

She grabbed him by the chin and shook her finger at him. "No excuses, now. You scared me, you know, but good. Don't ever do something like that again, you hear me?"

Penny placed her hands on either side of the dog’s head again. "Something else I think we’d better get straight around here. No, no, no -- don't you look over there. Nothing to see off that way. Look at me. Joe tells me you’ve been begging for treats at the coffee shop, too. Seems you’ve gotten quite the reputation at Queequeg’s as a first class moocher."

"Uh oh -- looks like I’m busted," whined the little shepherd guiltily. "Now I’m gonna get it."

"And you’ve been eating out of the garbage cans here, too," she scolded. "Don't you deny it. Mittens doesn't do stuff like that -- I know it's you. Now, you bad, bad boy, I’m gonna talk to you not as your ever-loving master but as your doctor. You’re no youngster anymore, and getting pudgy is not a good thing at your age. If you keep scarfing down bacon and scrambled eggs and donuts, you're gonna start developing all kinds of health problems." She began counting each malady on her fingers as she listed them off. "Let's see -- there’s pancreatitis, diabetes, gallbladder attacks, cystitis, kidney disease, high blood pressure, stroke, heart attack… Look, I’ve owned you for sixteen years now, and I'm not ready to send you off to doggy heaven just yet. First thing we’re gonna do is put you on a diet. There's a chow for overweight dogs, and I'll be feeding you that for the next few months. I’m gonna get you back down to fighting weight or my name isn't Penny. And if you’re bad, I'll have no choice but to swat your chunky butt with a rolled-up newspaper. Got it?"

Her rolled-up newspaper threat was actually as empty as Mittens’s occasional bluff to use her non-existent claws. In fact, Penny had never hit the dog once. But it was always enough to keep Bolt in line.

"So -- we’ll get started on that diet tomorrow, shall we?" Then she relented a little. "Bolt, you know I'm only doing this because I care so much about you, okay?" she sighed. "I do love you, you silly doggy. You know that, right?"

The shepherd whimpered and buried his head in Penny’s shoulder. "I know, I know," he mewled contritely.

7.

It turned out that Penny and Joe worked well together. And it was a couple months later when Joe said to her a little hesitantly, "Penny, y’know when I first took this job, I forgot to ask one thing. What's the policy on employees dating each other around here, anyway?"

Her eyes sparkled with surprise and amusement, though she wasn't the least bit unhappy. "What’re you trying to say there, Joe?"

He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, but would not be deterred. "Well," he continued, "Was just wondering if maybe we might go have dinner together tonight. There's a nice little Italian place about ten miles east of here -- supposed to be good. Would that be okay?"

Penny flashed her pixie’s smile as she silently went down a mental checklist. "Sweet tempered -- check. Smart -- check. Warm hearted -- check. Ruggedly handsome -- check. Respects me -- check. Likes me -- check. Likes Bolt and Mittens -- check and mate." With a shy nod, she said, "Sure, that sounds great. Just give me a chance to change out of my lab coat and into something more presentable.”

They would be married a year later.

8.

It was early afternoon, a few months since Joe and Penny had gone on their first date. Bolt and Mittens lay drained but happy on the living room couch, the dog on his back humming "Matchmaker, Matchmaker" from the musical "Fiddler on the Roof" while the cat snuggled on top of him.

"Gotta hand it to you, sweetie," Mittens purred as she lazily traced circles on the little shepherd’s chest. "You've done great sticking to that diet Penny put you on. You look like that virile hunk I fell in love with way back when." She shifted position. "Though I will say I do miss one thing about you being tubbier -- cuddling with you then was amazingly comfortable, kind of like hugging a big, soft, fuzzy pillow. But really, all in all I much prefer the trimmer you any day."

Bolt smiled happily and ran a paw affectionately down the cat’s back. "Thanks, babe. Nice to know all that effort has paid off. Have to admit, I feel better, too -- got more energy and bounce lately, plus my joints don’t ache anymore. Oh, and if I'm not mistaken, somebody owes me a little retraction about my instincts on a boyfriend for Penny, don’tcha think?"

"Yeah, you were right about that one," admitted Mittens. "Joe’s a sweetheart -- really cares about Penny, and seems like a good fit for her. Reminds me of you in some ways, actually. Gotta hand it to you, kiddo -- you really know how to pick ‘em. Though I'm not so sure about the risking life and limb part to get him here, mind you… "

The pooch chuckled. "Aw, honey, somehow I just knew you’d find something to ‘kwetch’ about."

Mittens rolled her eyes. "He has got to be teasing me, right? Didn't I correct him about that before? Or did he really forget already? I never know for sure with him on stuff like this. Eh -- no matter," she thought. "Might as well go ahead and school him. And if he's kidding around, I'll go along with the gag." She patted the shepherd’s chest and sighed wearily. "Wags, Wags, Wags… "


End file.
